Past, Present, Future
by AFishNamedSushi
Summary: She felt his pain, knew it as true as she knew her own heart, and wanted desperately to help him through it. Caryl, spoilers for 3x15.


**Episode 3x15 left me with so many feels that I needed to get this out there. It's Caryl and it's angsty, but didnt we all feel that way after that? **

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Daryl was so angry.

It was somehow worse that he didn't say anything, didn't rage and claw and bite and roar like she knew he desperately wanted to. Like she had wanted to, when it had happened to her. Anything at all just to let it out, to deflate the overwhelming surge that felt heavy in her stomach and clogged in her throat. She remembered the pain of her nails as they dug into her palms, the little drops seeping out doing little to quell the red haze she saw whenever she closed her eyes. That feverish madness she imagined was the underlying spark behind every walker's eyes before their brains were quieted forever. She felt his pain, knew it as true as she knew her own heart, and wanted desperately to help him through it.

But she knew she couldn't. And even if she could, he wouldn't let her.

She packed her things quietly, what little belongings she had that were solely hers. Trinkets and baubles, things that reminded her of the time before the prison. And the times before that, before the farm, before the camp, each a lifetime of their own. With every place the group settled came a new experience, a new transition. People lost and people found, and somehow through all the pain and sadness she couldn't help but marvel at how the world still kept spinning. Somehow it was a comfort to know that even at the end of the world life was still fluid.

Her hands stilled when she came to her knife, folded and lying atop a pile of repurposed prison bedding. She'd been lost and found too, battered but not broken, hopeless yet hopeful. Growing more stable with every upward swing. Despite all the odds, she was surviving in this world. She had a purpose, a reason to live beyond just animal instinct. She laughed and she cried, and though mourning was a normality, it was tinged with the bittersweet knowledge that in order to mourn she had to care. She wasn't a shell. She no longer sought shelter from the wall she was backed against. She was more vulnerable than ever, but was no longer afraid.

She could finally breathe.

She carried the box out of the small prison cell and walked through the iron doors for the last time, passing Carl and Beth as they carried their own. She gave a small smile to them both, sadness underlying hers and the ones they offered in return. Together they walked out into the bright Georgia sun, towards the cars that were being packed for a hasty retreat. Setting her box down, she noted that he was absent and searching eyes found him off to the side. Yet again out the outskirts, crossbow in his hands as he scanned the perimeter while the others packed.

And that's all he wanted. To breathe.

To stop fighting, to stop fearing, to truly let his guard down and just take a break. His past, his present, his future, they were all shrouds that hung heavy on his shoulders. Worn and tattered like his winter poncho, and garish and monstrous like his terrible scars. He fired into them with every arrow, lashed at their oppressive weight with every walker he took down. He had been making such good progress, slowly climbing the growing pile of bodies in a tentative bid for the sunlight peeking through the clouds. She remembered how she felt when she first felt the warmth, and how she turned away out of fear but kept wanting more. He'd gotten a taste for the sun and was beginning to enjoy the light.

When they were settled and ready to go, she hesitated before getting into the car. He was walking towards her, not explicitly but to the motorcycle near where she stood. Her hand on the open door, she waited, half-wondering if he would acknowledge her or if she should say something to him. Offer something that was heartfelt but she knew would sound like placations. That would earn her a scoff or a scowl or just _anything_ that wasn't terrible silence. Her words died in her throat when he was near enough to see. When he did look at her as he reached his bike and the chill she saw in his eyes reached into her soul.

He was stone.

He had almost touched the sun when the past came knocking, and instead of falling he soldiered on. He had reached the precipice, where there was hope that all things could be reconciled and this shitty new world really did wipe the slate clean for everyone. Where forgiveness was as powerful as bullets. Where a knife was a more romantic gift than flowers and candy. Where love and survival were synonymous. Where the future was a promise and not just a threat.

But the present shattered it all. Just like it had for her when Sophia died, for him when he couldn't bring her back. The loss of his brother at the cusp of a new beginning had set him back father than where he had started. She didn't know if anyone could reach him now, and it saddened her to the core.

As their caravan pulled out of the prison and onto the gravelly dirt road, she rested her head against the cool window. She closed her eyes and listened to the humming, letting the past and present meld as they washed over her in the humming waves of the motorcycle leading the pack toward yet another uncertain future.

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_Thanks for reading! If you liked it, let me know :)_


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